Pest Control Problem
by teh liz
Summary: [speed rent] Roger mocks. Collins buys peanut butter. Maureen champions humane killing of mice everywhere. Mark films. Benny gets really embarrassed.


**Author's Notes:** Look, my BRAND NEW AWARD WINNING FIC. Sorry. That sounded like brag, but I'm excited. XD This won third place (with two tied for second) and the Best Collins for a speed contest run by the person who runs the Rent 100. There was certain criteria that had to be met, and we were given only about a day to write the fic - hence the name 'speed contest'. You know, for a fic written at my grandmother's house and typed up and submitted _just_ under the wire last night, I'm pretty damn proud of it. Congrats to everyone else who took part! Pre-pre-Rent, they haven't lived in the loft very long.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own Rent. Nothing's changed in the last six hours.

Look, my Sorry. That sounded like brag, but I'm excited. XD This won third place (with two tied for second) and the Best Collins for a speed contest run by the person who runs the Rent 100. There was certain criteria that had to be met, and we were given only about a day to write the fic - hence the name 'speed contest'. You know, for a fic written at my grandmother's house and typed up and submitted under the wire last night, I'm pretty damn proud of it. Congrats to everyone else who took part! Pre-pre-Rent, they haven't lived in the loft very long. Don't own Rent. Nothing's changed in the last six hours. 

When Roger came back to the loft from band practice, the first thing he saw was Mark standing on the couch with a phone book hoisted over his head. They stood there for a moment, Roger at the door and Mark on the couch, Roger staring and Mark looking kind of sheepish. "Hi," he finally said.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Roger asked.

"We have mice. A mouse," Mark corrected himself, "but there might be more than one."

"I suppose you don't get may of those in Scarsdale or the dorms," he said back, the tone making Mark wonder if he was being mocked. He was, slightly, but if Mark thought a mouse was a reason to jump up on the couch and wield a phone book like a deadly weapon, did Roger ever have horror stories for him. The first apartment he'd lived in had rats the size of small dogs.

"Collins went to get traps, he should be back soon," Mark said, lowering the phone book finally, and sat on the couch. Roger noticed that he still didn't put his feet on the floor.

"Right," Roger said, putting his guitar down and taking a seat at the table. He lit a cigarette and idly flipped through a copy of _The Village Voice_.

Mere seconds later, the door slid open ad Maureen, the sole girl tenant of their loft, strode in easily. Roger didn't really look up, but grunted something that might've been a hello, but he could tell Mark was getting that completely dazed, goofy look on his face that he got whenever Maureen was around. "Hi boys!" she said brightly and then cocked her head at Mark. "Mark, what're you doing with the phone book?"

Mark looked down at the New York City phone book that was still clutched to his bosom like it was his first born child. "I… that is, we… mouse," he said stupidly after a moment.

"What?" Maureen asked.

"He means to say, my dear," a new voice said from the door, "is that we have a pest control problem." Collins had made his grand entrance, a rather large box cradled in his arms in front of him.

"What kind of pests?"

"Mice," Collins replied, setting the box on the table.

"A _mouse_?" she squeaked, jumping on the makeshift coffee table. "Did you see it? What did it look like?"

"Like Mickey, minus the white gloves and weird hot pants," Roger broke I before anyone could answer. Collins laughed heartily and gave him a high five. Even Mark cracked a grin, but Maureen just pouted at Roger. His moment of genius for the day past, Roger peered into the box. "Christ Almighty, Collins, how many mousetraps did you get?"

"Twenty-four. The economy pack. We will be getting rid of mice with these things several years after mice have evolved to be smarter than the moustrap."

Roger laughed and picked up a jar out of the box. "Peanut butter?" he asked.

"We're out. And mice like it, and it's good to set traps with, I promise." Silence followed, as did a skeptical look from Roger. "If it doesn't work, _you _can buy the bait of your choice and set the traps," Collins shot back.

"Fair enough," Roger said mildly, putting the jar back down.

"Where do we put them?" Mark asked, appearing across from Roger and looking in the box also.

"Cupboards, behind the toilet, other places we won't step on them," Collins answered. "Any place we think might catch a mouse."

"This is cruelty to animals, you know," Maureen declared, sliding onto the table and crossing her legs.

"They reduced me to standing on the couch and wielding the phone book like it was an automatic weapon. It dies," Mark concluded.

"Yeah, but there are better ways to get them," Maureen said. "Better traps. Or we can put in a call to the landlord."

"Who'll tell us to set traps and remind us our ret is due the first Monday of the month," Collins said.

"OW," Roger yelped, trying to pull his had out of a mousetrap that had snapped on him while he was trying to bait it.

"See? Wouldn't that be a cruel way to die?" Maureen demanded.

"I'm not dying, Mo, I just my fingers stuck," Roger said. "So sweet of you to be concerned, though," he added with a cocky grin.

"I'm not talking about _you_, I'm talking about the mice," she replied and stuck her tongue out.

"Look, I like animals. Cats? Adorable. Dogs? Love 'em. Zebras? Get 'em on an airplane and bring them on over," Collins stated. "But when they're eatin' my Triscuits without asking, I have a huge problem with that."

"Oops," Mark said, and then grinned. "Just kidding," he added and flawlessly set a trap.

Roger sniggered and went back to sucking on his fingers. Predictably, Mark put his trap down and went to his room and returned with his camera. "Jesus Christ, do you ever part with that fucking thing?" Roger asked as he wound the camera.

"No," he said simply and brought it up to his eye. "Reveal my roommates, who are currently hunkering down on a recently discovered pest control problem. The mouse, despite whatever Roger tells Maureen, is small, grey, pesty, and will be defeated by the five—"

"Four!"

"—four of us," Mark finished.

"Oh come on, Mo, join the killfest," Collins said with a note of temptation in his voice.

"I refuse," she said obstinately, crossing her arms for effect.

"Killjoy," Roger accused.

"Kill_er_!" she returned. "I still say we should call the landlord."

A knowing smirk came to Roger's face. "I say we make Benny do it."

"Why?" Collins asked.

"The man wouldn't know _how _to ask," Maureen said. "He only knows how to kiss ass."

"Interesting choice of phrase," Roger said, carefully setting his trap.

"_Why_?" Collins repeated.

"I just think it would be interesting to make Benny talk to him," Roger said casually. "Considering he's fucking the man's daughter and all."

One could have heard a pin drop. Three jaws dropped, three pairs of eyes stared at him. The only sound in the room was the _whirr _of Mark's camera, and when it stopped, there was total silence. Collins was the first one to recover from the revelation and summed up the situation with a disbelieving laugh and said, "No _way._"

"Swear," Roger said, holding up his hand. "You know the other night when we went to the Life and I had to run back here and get my wallet? Ladies and gentlemen, she was standing in our kitchen area half naked."

"Oh my _god,_" Maureen giggled.

"Yeah, and then she ran back in to his room and Benny came out in his boxer shorts – more of him than I ever wanted to see, by the way – and starts begging me to keep quiet and shit."

"Which you're obviously not," Mark said dryly.

"Shit, do you _blame _me?" Roger grinned.

"Blame you for what?" The door rolled closed, and they all turned to look at Bey, who rather suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

Maureen began giggling again, bent over the edge of the table in her mirth. Collins was trying not to smile, and the smug smirk returned to Roger's face. Only Mark's expression was neutral. "_What_?" Benny asked impatiently.

"Are you _really _screwing around with the landlord's daughter?" Collins asked.

Benny's jaw dropped and Maureen fell off the table to the floor, still laughing. "No need to deny it, Benjamin," Roger told him.

"You told?"

"I did."

"You fucker," Benny glared. "Yeah, Alison and I are _seeing _each other. Is there anyone here with a problem with it?"

"… No," Mark blinked.

"You're _scoring_, man, you think I have a problem with that?" Collins laughed.

"Does she give good head?" Roger asked.

Benny made an indignant noise in his throat. "I refuse to dignify that with an answer."

"Okay, so she does," Roger rolled his eyes.

"Alison has nothing to complain about," Benny said with as much dignity as he could muster before approaching the table.

"Oh, so _you _give the—"

"Leave it alone, Roger," Benny closed the conversation with those four words.


End file.
